Reopening the Wound
by Cybra
Summary: Mother's Day is over...but now it's Father's Day...


Reopening the Wound

By Cybra

**A/N:  By popular demand (yeah, right) I have decided to write a Father's Day vignette.  This one's gonna be tough on me since my dad's currently in Washington DC helping with the war.  Fortunately, he can still talk to us.  Like I said in "Words I Can Never Say", go give your dad a hug and be thankful for what you have!**

**Additional Note:  The reason this fic wasn't out by Father's Day is because Fanfiction.Net was down and out for the count.  I couldn't upload a single fic!  whine, whine, whine  So this is late.  Sorry.**

**Disclaimer:  As much as I'd _like to admit ownership, Hey Arnold! isn't mine.  Dagnabbit!_**

Just when I think I've recovered from Mother's Day…

…Father's Day is right around the bend.

I swear that I'm the butt end of a sick cosmic joke.

I'm sitting here in Slausen's playing with the last bit of my chocolate milkshake.  My friends are talking around me, but I'm not really listening.  I know I'm being horribly anti-social (Heck, I wouldn't even _be here if Gerald hadn't made me come!), but nobody seems to notice yet.  Besides, I'm paying too much attention to my melting milkshake.  I don't know why, but it seems so fascinating right now…more fascinating than their conversation._

"So what do you think, Arnold?" Phoebe asks me, suddenly including me in a conversation I have no idea what it's about.

I jerk my head up and stare at her blankly.  "Huh?"

"Crimeny, Football Head!  Can you be any more of an idiot?" Helga demands.

"Sorry.  I was…daydreaming."

Oh, yeah.  Daydreaming.  There's a laugh.

Helga opens her mouth to say something, but Phoebe cuts her off.  "Arnold, you've been acting very peculiar all morning.  Are you all right?"

Well, what do you know?  Somebody noticed after all.

…Man, I sound bitter.

"I'm fine," I lie. "What were you asking me about before?"

It's one of my favorite tricks: avoid answering (or answering fully) one question by asking another.  Nobody really notices when I do it.

Somehow, Phoebe notices and foils my plan.

"It wasn't important."  She gives me a serious look.  "Arnold, you aren't 'fine'.  Something's bothering you.  What is it?"

I want to scream at her _"Nothing's bothering me!" but I can't.  Just like usual, those glasses seem to intensify her serious look._

I don't know why, but that look _always makes me want to cringe, slink away, and hide._

I guess one too many times to the doctor's office with that guy drilling holes in me with those glasses has finally gotten to me.

One half of me wants to spill my guts, just tell her everything.

The other half of me tries to resist, just tell her I'm fine and to leave me alone.

The stalemate leaves me staring right back at her.

"I'm fine, Phoebe," I finally answer slowly, hoping she'll get the unsaid "drop it" I included in my tone.

Now everybody's looking at me, and I really don't want the attention.

I don't want them to see me finally lose it.

I know I'm starting to lose it.  Her questions made me lose interest in my milkshake, letting my thoughts of tomorrow slip back to the foreground.

Tomorrow's Father's Day, and Dad's still missing.

That's what's bothering me.

"Arnold…"

"You want to be a doctor, right?" I blurt out suddenly, half of my mind _screaming for me not to say the stupid thing on the tip of my tongue._

She jerks back for a moment, and I finish my milkshake in three quick sips.  (Fortunately, it isn't enough to give me a brain freeze.)

"Yes…" she finally answers.

I slide out of the large booth we're all sitting in (I made _sure to be on the outside!) and say, "Then you should know not to rub salt in an open wound."_

That one half of my mind shrieks, _'You **idiot!'**_

I turn sharply on my heel and walk out the door.  (I probably turned so sharply that it would've brought a tear to any drill sergeant's eye for all I know.)  I already paid for my milkshake when I first got it, so I don't have to stop to pay.  I briskly walk out the door.

I'm about halfway down the sidewalk when I hear a voice shout, "Wait!"

Phoebe.

Then another voice shouts, "Hold up!"

…_Helga?_

I expected _Gerald to be the other voice._

Maybe he's keeping the others from chasing after me…

…or maybe he just knows when to just leave me alone.

Gerald or no Gerald, I don't slow down for a moment.

I don't want to talk about it.

I don't want them to see me cry.

The tears are trying to escape, so I bite my lip to fight them off.

If Helga sees me crying, she'll laugh in my face even more than she normally does.

_'That's a lie, and you know it.  She doesn't laugh at you when you've been really hurt,' some part of my mind tells me._

I ignore that part of my mind.  Helga's never seen me cry before.  It's too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"Arnold!"

Phoebe's voice again, and she sounds closer.

I break into a run, turning corners sharply in my mad dash.

I'm running away from them as if I can run fast enough to leave my own sorrows behind me.

I'm running as if I can run right through tomorrow without seeing it pass.

Helga's barking an order to Phoebe.  Probably to split up to cut me off.

No chance.

I race down an alleyway, not caring that there's a wall blocking off the end of it.  I go right for the fire escape.  Quickly climbing up part of it, I easily leap off of it and over the wall to land in a crouch on the other side.  Instead of continuing to run, I stop and wait, trying my best not to breathe too hard because of my run.

"Where'd he go?" Phoebe wheezes from the other side of the wall.

There's a pause.  I guess they're looking around.

"I guess the Great Arnoldini made _himself disappear."_

I almost start laughing.  That had been a horrible magic show now that I look back on it.

I stop laughing before I start, feeling down again.

I'd been so nasty to Helga afterward…

Why is hindsight always better than foresight?

I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them.  It's cold here, uncomfortable…

…but I don't care.

In my pocket's the watch I bought for Dad's Father's Day gift.  I'm going to add it to _his collection of gifts tomorrow._

Slowly, I reach into my pocket and finger it.  It wasn't very expensive, but it was the nicest one in my price range.  The sales guy told me that he was jealous.  (Probably just trying to make a sale.)

Still, Dad would love it if…

The wound fully reopens.  My soul is bleeding again.  My heart literally clenches.

I hear Helga and Phoebe leave.

When I'm sure they can't hear me, I put my head down on my knees…

…my unshed tears burn my eyes…

…and I finally release them.

The chill wind blowing through the alleyway makes me shiver, but I don't care.  If I get sick, it's my own fault.

A mugger could sneak up on me any moment now, but I don't care.  If I get mugged, it's my own fault.

I don't care what happens to me right now.

I don't care as long as I'm left alone long enough to cry my tears all out before I go home.

Once there, I can start over again in private.

Like on Mother's Day, I can't say that one phrase written on cards, posters, everywhere:

_'Happy Father's Day, Dad.'_


End file.
